


I Wanted To Check

by insatiablerealist



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Love Actually Setting, Language Barrier, Love Actually AU, M/M, Mutual Pining, Yuri Plisetsky is Viktor's brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 23:56:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9045029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insatiablerealist/pseuds/insatiablerealist
Summary: Yuuri is an artist, Viktor is a ballet teacher, and they find themselves sharing an apartment in Barcelona. The only problem is they speak two different languages, but despite that, they fall in love.Love Actually AU based on the Colin Firth/language barrier storyline, you don't need to know the movie to get the story. The setting etc is all changed but the plot is mostly the same.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is written entirely in English since I don’t speak Russian or Japanese, but Viktor’s speaking Russian and Yuuri’s speaking Japanese. I tried to keep that clear through the writing but if it’s confusing, forgive me. Most of the time this is from Yuuri’s POV but sometimes I include Viktor’s thoughts too. Assume this is taking place in 2003, like Love Actually, because if it happened in 2016 they would have google translate and that would ruin the plot.

Yuuri wasn’t going to pretend that he had been completely anxiety-free about his decision to move to a different country. Getting anxious was what he did best, so of course he had concerns about such a momentous thing. But the alternative, staying in his small town and becoming increasingly dissatisfied with his artwork and his life, was infinitely more daunting. So he packed and booked a flight to Barcelona before he could do too much overthinking.

He knew moving to a new location wouldn’t magically improve his art, no matter how scenic and picturesque it was, but it might inspire him more than his typical surroundings did. At any rate, he had thought it would be a fun change of pace, a chance to do something new and fresh, both in his art and his life.

He also knew he would have to share an apartment when he got to Barcelona. Living alone was far too expensive, and he was slightly worried that if he did live alone in a foreign city he would go insane from lack of human interaction. Even living with a stranger would be preferable to being completely on his own. This was his logic, at least. Nothing could have prepared him for the roommate he got.

The landlord had told him that that the person he would be sharing an apartment with had been there since January, and that they were doing something ballet-related, so they would be out of the apartment during the day, and that they had a dog. The landlord neglected to mention, however, that this person was the most beautiful man Yuuri had ever seen.

The landlord also neglected to mention that the tall, thin, silver-haired vision now standing before Yuuri spoke only Russian and limited Spanish. 

“I’m Viktor Nikiforov,” he said in Spanish, holding out a hand. Yuuri shook it nervously and gave his own name, but his Spanish was far too weak to carry on a conversation.

“My little brother’s name is Yuri!” Viktor said excitedly in Russian, before he remembered that this Yuuri would have no idea what he just said.

“Huh?” Yuuri thought he heard his own name in the middle of whatever Viktor had just said, but it hadn’t sounded like a question. When he gave Viktor a questioning look, the other man shrugged apologetically and turned away. Yuuri sighed and carried his things to his room, pausing to give his roommate’s dog an enthusiastic ear scratch.

For the first week or so, Yuuri hardly interacted with his roommate at all. Viktor was usually out of the apartment before Yuuri woke up. Yuuri gradually figured out that he taught ballet during the day. Since Yuuri himself usually went to paint or sketch somewhere around the city, neither of them were in the apartment during the day and they both often came back in the evening. Viktor would usually walk his dog after he ate and then just slip back into his room, so Yuuri did the same. 

Despite their lack of communication, Yuuri quickly noticed that, while he would try to make a real meal for himself every night, Viktor always got takeout or ate something ridiculously simple, like cereal. Once Yuuri saw him set spaghetti on fire. How he managed to do that Yuuri had no idea, but the man was clearly a hopeless cook, so Yuuri decided to start cooking for him. It wasn’t hard to double whatever he made for himself.

 

The problem was that he couldn’t explain what he was offering in a language Viktor would understand, so he decided he would have to just provide food and hope his roommate took the hint. One evening, slightly before Viktor’s normal dinner time, Yuuri prepared two pork cutlet bowls instead of one. He sat down at the table to eat his own and pushed the second across to where Viktor was sitting, engrossed in his work.

He looked up in surprise when he noticed the food. Yuuri gestured between his own bowl and the second one, and after a moment Viktor hesitantly tried a bite. As soon as he swallowed, he shouted something in Russian that was unintelligible to Yuuri but clearly an expression of delight. 

Yuuri laughed as Viktor devoured the pork cutlet bowl. “If you like it so much, I’ll have to make this more often,” he said out loud, even though he knew Viktor wouldn’t know what he meant.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted! You’ve got to make this every night,” Viktor said, so absorbed in devouring the food that he momentarily forgot about the language barrier.

They looked up at the same time, staring at each other across the table. Viktor broke into a grin, and Yuuri couldn’t help but smile at him. Maybe they didn’t need to speak the same language to get along.

Yuuri kept cooking dinner for Viktor, and Viktor continued to praise whatever he was offered so fervently that Yuuri blushed even though he didn’t know what compliments he was being given. As they spent more evenings eating together, they both began to talk about something other than the food, as silly as it felt.

“The sunrise looked beautiful this morning. I hope you got a chance to paint it,” Viktor said one day.

Yuuri smiled politely. He felt like he should say something too. “I got a lot of work done today. For once I woke up early enough to paint the sunrise,” he replied, oblivious that they’d picked the same topic.  

“I’d love to see your paintings someday.” Viktor looked at Yuuri significantly, as if that would somehow help convey his meaning. “But I know that artists hate to share their art sometimes.”

“I hope you’re not offended that I’m so secretive about what I paint. I’m just not confident enough to show it off at the moment,” Yuuri murmured aimlessly, looking down at his bowl and missing Viktor’s gaze.

“I wouldn’t know enough to tell if it’s good or bad anyway, but I’m sure your art is wonderful.” Viktor had very little artistic knowledge but the mere fact of it being created by someone he felt so fond towards would make Viktor like any painting of Yuuri’s he saw.

“I especially wouldn’t want you to see what I’ve made and judge it too harshly.” Yuuri sighed. Surely Viktor would have refined tastes to go along with his elegant demeanor, so he’d probably hate Yuuri’s art. 

Seeing Yuuri’s downcast expression, Viktor assumed his chatter had gotten annoying, so he shut up and they finished dinner in silence. When both their bowls were empty, Viktor cleared the table with a smile, trying to show that he hadn’t meant any harm with his conversation.

Yuuri met his eyes and tried to smile back. He wished he could explain that Viktor hadn’t done anything wrong; Yuuri had only gotten disheartened by thoughts of his own inadequacy. But Viktor just stuck their bowls in the dishwasher and disappeared into his room.

 

*  *  *

 

One day when Yuuri came home earlier in the afternoon than usual, he heard music playing as he unlocked the door. It sounded operatic; he wasn’t sure what language the words were in but he guessed Italian. When he peered into the living room, he saw Viktor dancing.

It was the most beautiful thing Yuuri had ever seen. He had known Viktor was a dancer, but seeing him in action was better than he could have ever imagined. Viktor moved perfectly in time to the music, turning and jumping so smoothly that he could have been flying. His eyes were pressed closed but the expression on his face was so emotional that Yuuri felt his heart clench watching. He felt like he was intruding on something personal, so he quickly retreated into his room.

Over dinner that night, he couldn’t help looking at Viktor in a different light, knowing now how strong and flexible he was. Before he realized what he was thinking, Yuuri found himself imagining what it would be like to be held down by him, or pressed against a wall. The second he returned to his senses he blushed scarlet. He hadn’t said anything out loud, but he still felt invasive imagining something like that about his roommate. He tried to push the thought out of his head, but from then on it never completely disappeared. Yuuri had admired Viktor’s aesthetic beauty from the day they met, but now he was actively attracted to him.

The littlest things caught Yuuri’s attention; Viktor stretching to reach something on the top kitchen shelf, Viktor shaking his his hair out of his eyes and winking over dinner (Yuuri didn’t know what he was saying but it seemed to be a joke), just Viktor existing in Yuuri’s presence. He hoped he wasn’t making a fool of himself, but he could feel himself blushing when they maintained eye contact a few seconds longer than normal, or when their hands brushed while doing dishes. He felt like a middle schooler with their first crush. 

His only comfort was that Viktor didn’t seem to notice for weeks. That was terrible on one hand, because it meant he had no idea that every little thing he did was killing Yuuri. But Yuuri much preferred that scenario to Viktor discovering how he felt and their friendly cohabitation never recovering. Because every day, they were spending more time together.

One evening, as Yuuri was washing up the dishes he’d used making dinner, Viktor called his name.

“Yes?” he asked, turning towards him.

“Do you want to walk Makkachin with me tonight?” Viktor asked. Then, knowing he would have to find another way to explain his request, he pointed at Yuuri, then himself, then the dog leash in his hand. 

“Oh! Do you want me to come with you? Sure, just let me finish up here.” He gestured towards the sink, and held up one finger to indicate that he needed a minute. Viktor nodded and perched on the edge of the table to wait. Yuuri dried his hands and grabbed his jacket, and they walked outside together.

It was almost sundown but a thick layer of clouds had rolled in. Even though it was gray above them, a sliver of clear sky was still visible in the west. Orange light shone at an odd angle, and Yuuri’s fingers itched with the urge to paint the scene around them. Viktor was focused intently on his dog, so Yuuri could sneak glances at him as they walked. The strange light made his eyes sparkle.

“It’s so pretty tonight. I love these weird clouds,” Viktor said as they walked. He hoped Yuuri would take the hint and talk back. Even if they weren’t even talking about the same thing, he liked to share some sort of conversation. And he loved hearing Yuuri speak Japanese.

“If I had paints and an easel, I’d paint this,” Yuuri said, waving a hand at the view around them. “This light looks so cool.”

“Barcelona is always pretty. That’s part of why I chose it, you know. Everyone wanted to know why I wanted to leave home to teach, when Russia’s such a strong country for ballet, but I don’t know. I just needed a change of scene,” Viktor rambled.

“I’m glad I came here. I didn’t really care where I went, I just wanted to leave home, but I made the right choice,” Yuuri said, thinking back to when he had decided, on a whim really, to go to Barcelona.

“I love my home, but I was feeling so tired there. I did the same thing every day. Since that was ballet, that meant I got really good, but I felt like I had nowhere else to go. I was trapped. So I decided to keep doing what I loved, but teaching, introducing kids to it, and in a new place.” Viktor wasn’t really sure why he was saying all of this aloud. Yuuri would have no idea why he was talking so much. But it still felt good to get this off his chest. His mother had supported him when he decided to move, but she never really understood why he felt he had to.

Yuuri looked at Viktor curiously. Clearly he was talking about something important, not just making idle chitchat, and Yuuri wished that he could understand him. “I always wanted to spend time away from home at some point,” he said, returning to his own train of thought. “I didn’t know where I wanted to go, but I knew if I stayed in Hatsetsu I wouldn’t be satisfied. I’ll go home eventually but I like living on my own. Well, not on my own. I have you.” But did he really have Viktor? Yuuri felt so attached to him, but he had no way of knowing if Viktor felt the same.

They came to the river, and Viktor slowed. “This is usually where I turn around.”

Noticing that Viktor had stopped walking, Yuuri stilled next to him. The sun had set now, but the gap in the clouds still glowed orange, and a hint of light reflected in the water before them. After admiring the landscape, Yuuri found himself drawn back to Viktor.

Just as he looked up, Viktor turned and met his eyes, and broke into a grin. “You’re beautiful,” Yuuri murmured before he could stop himself, and then, of course, blushed immediately. For once he was grateful for their language barrier.

“You look so good when you blush like that,” Viktor said softly, his grin fading into a soft smile. “You always look good.” He wished he could tell Yuuri how attractive he found him in a language he understood.

“I’m so glad I met you,” Yuuri said, hardly aware of what he was saying.

“I wish I never had to leave you,” Viktor muttered.

They stared at each other for a long moment, but soon Makkachin grew restless, so Viktor turned to walk home. As Yuuri fell into step beside him, Viktor reached out to hold his hand. Yuuri started at first, but Viktor just kept a steady grip, so after a minute Yuuri squeezed back. His hand was cold out of his pocket, but Viktor’s was warm, and the contact made him feel warm regardless.

Viktor held onto Yuuri’s hand until they got to the apartment and he had to reach into the apartment to get the key. “It’s not too late, do you want to watch something?” he asked when they got inside. At Yuuri’s raised eyebrow, he pointed at the TV and the couch.

“Oh, a movie or something? Yeah, okay.” He nodded.

Yuuri didn’t pay much attention to what they were watching, because a few minutes in Viktor draped his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. Once again, the contact shocked Yuuri at first, but it wasn’t that he minded, he was just surprised. Viktor’s arm rested lightly against him. He got the impression Viktor was waiting for his reaction, so after a moment of anxiety he leaned into him.

By the end of the movie, there was no space between them. Yuuri got up very reluctantly. He wouldn’t have minded staying there, under Viktor’s arm with his head on Viktor’s chest, forever. The only comfort was that Viktor seemed equally reluctant to move. But eventually they both stood, wished each other goodnight, and went to bed.

As he tried to fall asleep, Yuuri wished, in the back of his mind, that he was in Viktor’s bed. It wasn’t the first time he had had such a thought, but it was the first time he desired companionship rather than sex. And somehow, that desire was much harder to push away.

 

*  *  *

 

In the morning, Yuuri was up before Viktor, which was rare. They ate breakfast at the kitchen table together, but Viktor had to leave soon. They both told each other to have a nice day as he walked out the door. The words were foreign, but the sentiment was still clear. 

Yuuri spent the day in the apartment. He had finally embarked on a serious art project, so he wanted to spend most of his time on that rather than sketching around the city. He got so absorbed in his work that his only awareness of the passage of time was the light in his room changing, so he didn’t notice at first that Viktor was out later than normal.

When he did come home, he was oddly quiet. Yuuri found it rather unnerving, but he made dinner anyway. Viktor didn’t talk when they started to eat, either, which was definitely strange. Viktor usually chatted all through their meal.

It wasn’t until they were almost finished that he spoke. “I’m going home tomorrow,” he said in a low voice. Yuuri gave him his usual puzzled look, and Viktor got up and disappeared down the hall into his room. A moment later, he ran back and slid a piece of paper across the table. Picking it up, Yuuri could see it was Viktor’s plane ticket for a flight leaving the next day.

He wasn’t prepared to feel his stomach drop as he realized what Viktor was telling him. He had known vaguely that Viktor was moving back to Russia sometime before Christmas, but somehow he had forgotten that they were already halfway through December. It seemed like just the other day he and Viktor were awkwardly shaking hands for the first time.

“I wish I’d known sooner that you were leaving,” Yuuri stuttered. But what difference would it make? He still wouldn’t have been able to build up the courage to do anything more than make meals and conversation, and Viktor wouldn’t understand anything he would say anyway.

“I should have told you before tonight,” Viktor said, unaware of Yuuri’s minor internal crisis. “I didn’t want to admit to myself that I’m leaving you.” He had hoped that by keeping silent about his imminent departure, it somehow wouldn’t come to pass. He was going to miss Barcelona, but it was saying goodbye to Yuuri that he couldn’t bear.

“Do you want me to help you pack?” Yuuri asked. He still felt despondent but he could at least make himself useful. He realized a moment later, however, that he had no idea how to mime “help you pack,” so his offer fell flat.

It seemed Viktor had that under control, because after dinner he suggested they watch a movie again. This time, they curled around each other almost as soon as they sat down. Perhaps Yuuri was imagining it, but it seemed like Viktor clutched him a little closer than necessary. But he wasn’t complaining.

They were even more reluctant to go to their separate rooms that night, but eventually they did. It embarrassed him, but Yuuri cried himself to sleep.

He got up early enough to see Viktor off before his taxi came in the morning. He hovered awkwardly as Viktor gathered his things, and he helped search the living room for anything that might have been forgotten. At last, it was time for Viktor to leave. Yuuri walked him to the door, trying to ignore the way his heart was pounding painfully against his chest.

“Well, goodbye,” he said.

“Goodbye.” They met each other’s eyes, and Yuuri saw the pain he felt reflected in Viktor’s face. Suddenly Viktor leaned down and pressed a kiss to Yuuri’s mouth. Before Yuuri could react, he pulled back, grabbed his things, and swept out the door.

For a few moments, Yuuri stood bolted to the floor in shock. He thought he might cry again, but no tears fell. When he managed to think straight, he paced back and forth briefly, but only a minute or two passed before he grabbed his coat and ran to the nearest library to check out every book on learning Russian he could find.

 

*  *  *

 

Yuuri rang the doorbell in front of him, heart racing. A voice in his mind had been repeating over and over that this was a terrible idea since he got on the plane, and that voice had only gotten louder when he touched down in Russia. He could still run now, he supposed, but he was committed. He had committed two weeks ago when he started struggling through Russian lessons, and now here he was, on Christmas Eve. He would see this through.

A slender woman with hair the same color as Viktor’s but going almost to her waist opened the door. Yuuri took a deep breath. “Hello,” he said, the heavy Russian syllables sounding clumsy on his tongue. “I am called Yuuri Katsuki. I am coming here to ask your son Viktor to marry me.” 

The woman raised her eyebrows, but she smiled. “Yuratchka!” she shouted over her shoulder. “Where’s your brother?”

“Why?” a younger voice shouted back from inside the house. 

“This young man with the same name as you wants to marry him!”

A moment later a short boy with messy blond hair appeared behind his mother. “He’s working. I don’t know why you want to marry stupid Vitya, though. He’s the most annoying person I’ve ever met!” he shouted. 

“Yuratchka! Don’t talk about your brother like that to strangers!”

“Why are you letting him marry your son if he’s a stranger, then?”

Yuuri tried to follow their exchange but they spoke too fast for him to catch every word. Noticing he looked lost, Viktor’s mother took pity on him, speaking more slowly. “Vitya’s between real jobs at the moment, so he’s been working at the restaurant down the street. I’ll show you. Stay here, alright?” she said to her younger son.

“What? No way! I want to see if this guy’s serious!”

“Fine, get your coat.”

As they walked through the town, the boy shouted out to neighbors they knew. “This crazy man wants to marry my older brother and Mama’s letting him!”

His mother ignored him, but some of the people in the street were curious enough to follow them. The story the younger brother gave got more elaborate and outlandish every time someone asked where they were off to, so more and more people fell in step behind them. By the time they got to the restaurant, a small crowd had gathered. Yuuri had intended on proposing in private, partly because it was an intimate moment and partly because his bad Russian embarrassed him, but apparently now he would have an audience.

Viktor’s mother led him inside approached someone who was apparently the manager of the restaurant. “Excuse me, where is Viktor?” she asked.

“Upstairs, why?”

“This man is going to propose to him!” The manager rolled his eyes but stood aside to let Yuuri and the front of the crowd into the foyer.

Just as Yuuri stepped forward, Viktor appeared, waiting the table by the railing of the restaurant’s second floor. Even in his apron he looked gorgeous, his silver fringe falling over one eye. As he straightened up to leave the table he saw Yuuri standing below him and froze.

“Good evening, Viktor,” Yuuri called, hoping his voice wouldn’t shake.

“Good evening, Yuuri,” Viktor replied, glancing curiously at the people gathered behind him.

“Viktor,” Yuuri began. “I am coming here with the idea to ask you to marriage me.” The little brother behind him scoffed as he misspoke, but he continued. “I know I seem strange, because we have never speak the same language, but I feel like I know you. I cannot live my life without asking if you feel like that too. If you think I am crazy, I understand. But I love you, and it is Christmas. And your birthday! And I wanted to . . . check.”

As Yuuri finished, Viktor broke into a grin.

“What are you waiting for? If he’s crazy enough to want _you_ , say yes!” the younger brother snapped.

“Be quiet!” his mother hissed behind Yuuri.

“Thank you,” Viktor said, ignoring his brother, and Yuuri was taken aback when he spoke in Japanese, albeit with a heavy accent. “I will like that very much. I love you also. Yes, I am saying.”

Yuuri laughed, tears welling in his eyes.

“What did you say?” the brother asked impatiently.

“Yes, of course!” Viktor called in Russian.

Yuuri jumped when the entire restaurant burst into applause around them. Viktor’s mother patted him on the back and pushed him forward as Viktor came down the stairs towards him. When he reached the ground level they both ran towards each other, Viktor pulling Yuuri into a kiss as soon as they met. It wasn’t at all like the kiss in their apartment, because this time Yuuri was ready. When Viktor’s lips met his, he kissed back, and never wanted to stop.

“You learned Japanese!” Yuuri murmured in his native language when, after a long moment, they pulled apart.

“A small bit only,” Viktor replied, smiling sheepishly at his awkward phrasing.

Yuuri couldn’t help but kiss him again. He had made what was probably the most daring move of his life, but for once he didn’t feel at all anxious about it. And from the way Viktor was clinging to him, one hand on his back and the other winding into his hair, Yuuri could tell that Viktor felt just as elated as he did.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This story, much like Love Actually, requires a lot of suspension of disbelief, so if you overlooked any potential plotholes, thank you. 
> 
> Thanks to Sam/[step-off-the-earth](http://www.step-off-the-earth.tumblr.com) on tumblr for betaing. Talk to me on tumblr: [eelanorforcongress](http://www.eelanorforcongress.tumblr.com)
> 
> Also I might write an epilogue and/or a deleted scene from this so comment if that sounds cool!


End file.
